Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Of those who in the livery were arrayed

  Of good or evil fame, of those with whom

  By frame of academic discipline

  Perforce we were connected, men whose sway,

  And whose authority of office, served 575

  To set our minds on edge, and did no more.

  Nor wanted we rich pastime of this kind —

  Found everywhere, but chiefly in the ring

  Of the grave elders, men unscoured, grotesque

  In character, tricked out like aged trees 580

  Which through the lapse of their infirmity

  Give ready place to any random seed

  That chuses to be reared upon their trunks.

  Here on my view, confronting as it were

  Those shepherd swains whom I had lately left, 585

  Did flash a different image of old age —

  How different — yet both withal alike

  A book of rudiments for the unpractised sight,

  Objects embossed, and which with sedulous care

  Nature holds up before the eye of youth 590

  In her great school — with further view, perhaps,

  To enter early on her tender scheme

  Of teaching comprehension with delight

  And mingling playful with pathetic thoughts.

  The surfaces of artificial life 595

  And manners finely spun, the delicate race

  Of colours, lurking, gleaming up and down

  Through that state arras woven with silk and gold:

  This wily interchange of snaky hues,

  Willingly and unwillingly revealed, 600

  I had not learned to watch, and at this time

  Perhaps, had such been in my daily sight,

  I might have been indifferent thereto

  As hermits are to tales of distant things.

  Hence, for these rarities elaborate 605

  Having no relish yet, I was content

  With the more homely produce rudely piled

  In this our coarser warehouse. At this day

  I smile in many a mountain solitude

  At passages and fragments that remain 610

  Of that inferior exhibition, played

  By wooden images, a theatre

  For wake or fair. And oftentimes do flit

  Remembrances before me of old men,

  Old humourists, who have been long in their graves, 615

  And, having almost in my mind put off

  Their human names, have into phantoms passed

  Of texture midway betwixt life and books.

  I play the loiterer, ‘tis enough to note

  That here in dwarf proportions were expressed 620

  The limbs of the great world — its goings-on

  Collaterally pourtrayed as in mock fight,

  A tournament of blows, some hardly dealt

  Though short of mortal combat — and whate’er

  Might of this pageant be supposed to hit 625

  A simple rustic’s notice, this way less,

  More that way, was not wasted upon me.

  And yet this spectacle may well demand

  A more substantial name, no mimic show,

  Itself a living part of a live whole, 630

  A creek of the vast sea. For, all degrees

  And shapes of spurious fame and short-lived praise

  Here sate in state, and, fed with daily alms,

  Retainers won away from solid good.

  And here was Labour, his own Bond-slave; Hope 635

  That never set the pains against the prize;

  Idleness, halting with his weary clog;

  And poor misguided Shame, and witless Fear,

  And simple Pleasure, foraging for Death;

  Honour misplaced, and Dignity astray; 640

  Feuds, factions, flatteries, Enmity and Guile,

  Murmuring Submission and bald Government

  (The idol weak as the idolator)

  And Decency and Custom starving Truth,

  And blind Authority beating with his staff 645

  The child that might have led him; Emptiness

  Followed as of good omen, and meek Worth

  Left to itself unheard of and unknown.

  Of these and other kindred notices

  I cannot say what portion is in truth 650

  The naked recollection of that time,

  And what may rather have been called to life

  By after-meditation. But delight,

  That, in an easy temper lulled asleep,

  Is still with innocence its own reward, 655

  This surely was not wanting. Carelessly

  I gazed, roving as through a cabinet

  Or wide museum, thronged with fishes, gems,

  Birds, crocodiles, shells, where little can be seen,

  Well understood, or naturally endeared, 660

  Yet still does every step bring something forth

  That quickens, pleases, stings — and here and there

  A casual rarity is singled out

  And has its brief perusal, then gives way

  To others, all supplanted in their turn. 665

  Meanwhile, amid this gaudy congress framed

  Of things by nature most unneighbourly,

  The head turns round, and cannot right itself;

  And, though an aching and a barren sense

  Of gay confusion still be uppermost, 670

  With few wise longings and but little love,

  Yet something to the memory sticks at last

  Whence profit may be drawn in times to come.

  Thus in submissive idleness, my friend,

  The labouring time of autumn, winter, spring — 675

  Nine months — rolled pleasingly away, the tenth

  Returned me to my native hills again.

  BOOK FOURTH.

  SUMMER VACATION

  A PLEASANT sight it was when, having clomb

  The Heights of Kendal, and that dreary moor

  Was crossed, at length as from a rampart’s edge

  I overlooked the bed of Windermere.

  I bounded down the hill, shouting amain 5

  A lusty summons to the farther shore

  For the old ferryman; and when he came

  I did not step into the well-known boat

  Without a cordial welcome. Thence right forth

  I took my way, now drawing towards home, 10

  To that sweet valley where I had been reared;

  ‘Twas but a short hour’s walk ere, veering round,

  I saw the snow-white church upon its hill

  Sit like a thron`ed lady, sending out

  A gracious look all over its domain. 15

  Glad greetings had I, and some tears perhaps,

  From my old dame, so motherly and good,

  While she perused me with a parent’s pride.

  The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew

  Upon thy grave, good creature: while my heart 20

  Can beat I never will forget thy name.

  Heaven’s blessing be upon thee where thou liest

  After thy innocent and busy stir

  In narrow cares, thy little daily growth

  Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years, 25

  And more than eighty, of untroubled life —

  Childless, yet by the strangers to they blood

  Honoured with little less than filial love.

  Great joy was mine to see thee once again,

  Thee and thy dwelling, and a throng of things 30

  About its narrow precincts, all beloved

  And many of them seeming yet my own.

  Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts

  Have felt, and every man alive can guess?

  The rooms, the court, the garden were not left 35

  Long unsaluted, and the spreading pine

  And broad stone table underneath its boughs —

  Our summer seat in many a festive hour —
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  And that unruly child of mountain birth,

  The froward brook, which, soon as he was boxed 40

  Within our garden, found himself at once

  As if by trick insidious and unkind,

  Stripped of his voice, and left to dimple down

  Without an effort and without a will

  A channel paved by the hand of man. 45

  I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again,

  And in the press of twenty thousand thoughts,

  ‘Ha’, quoth I, ‘pretty prisoner, are you there!’

  — And now, reviewing soberly that hour,

  I marvel that a fancy did not flash 50

  Upon me, and a strong desire, straitway,

  At sight of such an emblem that shewed forth

  So aptly my late course of even days

  And all their smooth enthralment, to pen down

  A satire on myself. My aged dame 55

  Was with me, at my side; she guided me,

  I willing, nay — nay, wishing to be led.

  The face of every neighbour whom I met

  Was as a volume to me; some I hailed

  Far off, upon the road, or at their work — 60

  Unceremonious greetings, interchanged

  With half the length of a long field between.

  Among my schoolfellows I scattered round

  A salutation that was more constrained

  Though earnest — doubtless with a little pride, 65

  But with more shame, for my habiliments,

  The transformation and the gay attire.

  Delighted did I take my place again

  At our domestic table; and, dear friend,

  Relating simply as my wish hath been 70

  A poet’s history, can I leave untold

  The joy with which I laid me down at night

  In my accustomed bed, more welcome now

  Perhaps than if it had been more desired,

  Or been more often thought of with regret — 75

  That bed whence I had heard the roaring wind

  And clamorous rain, that bed where I so oft

  Had lain awake on breezy nights to watch

  The moon in splendour couched among the leaves

  Of a tall ash that near our cottage stood, 80

  Had watched her with fixed eyes, while to and fro

  In the dark summit of the moving tree

  She rocked with every impulse of the wind.

  Among the faces which it pleased me well

  To see again was one by ancient right 85

  Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills,

  By birth and call of nature preordained

  To hunt the badger and unearth the fox

  Among the impervious crags. But having been

  From youth our own adopted, he had passed 90

  Into a gentler service; and when first

  The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day

  Along my veins I kindled with the stir,

  The fermentation and the vernal heat

  Of poesy, affecting private shades 95

  Like a sick lover, then this dog was used

  To watch me, an attendant and a friend,

  Obsequious to my steps early and late,

  Though often of such dilatory walk

  Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made. 100

  A hundred times when in these wanderings

  I have been busy with the toil of verse —

  Great pains and little progress — and at once

  Some fair enchanting image in my mind

  Rose up, full-formed like Venus from the sea, 105

  Have I sprung forth towards him and let loose

  My hand upon his back with stormy joy,

  Caressing him again and yet again.

  And when in the public roads at eventide

  I sauntered, like a river murmuring 110

  And talking to itself, at such a season

  It was his custom to jog on before;

  But, duly whensoever he had met

  A passenger approaching, would he turn

  To give me timely notice, and straitway, 115

  Punctual to such admonishment, I hushed

  My voice, composed my gait, and shaped myself

  To give and take a greeting that might save

  My name from piteous rumours, such as wait

  On men suspected to be crazed in brain. 120

  Those walks, well worthy to be prized and loved —

  Regretted, that word too was on my tongue,

  But they were richly laden with all good,

  And cannot be remembered but with thanks

  And gratitude and perfect joy of heart — 125

  Those walks did now like a returning spring

  Come back on me again. When first I made

  Once more the circuit of our little lake

  If ever happiness hath lodged with man

  That day consummate happiness was mine — 130

  Wide-spreading, steady, calm, contemplative.

  The sun was set, or setting, when I left

  Our cottage door, and evening soon brought on

  A sober hour, not winning or serene,

  For cold and raw the air was, and untuned; 135

  But as a face we love is sweetest then

  When sorrow damps it, or, whatever look

  It chance to wear, is sweetest if the heart

  Have fulness in itself, even so with me

  It fared that evening. Gently did my soul 140

  Put off her veil, and, self-transmuted, stood

  Naked as in the presence of her God.

  As on I walked, a comfort seemed to touch

  A heart that had not been disconsolate,

  Strength came where weakness was not known to be, 145

  At least not felt; and restoration came

  Like an intruder knocking at the door

  Of unacknowledged weariness. I took

  The balance in my hand and weighed myself:

  I saw but little, and thereat was pleased; 150

  Little did I remember, and even this

  Still pleased me more — but I had hopes and peace

  And swellings of the spirits, was rapt and soothed,

  Conversed with promises, had glimmering views

  How life pervades the undecaying mind, 155

  How the immortal soul with godlike power

  Informs, creates, and thaws the deepest sleep

  That time can lay upon her, how on earth

  Man if he do but live within the light

  Of high endeavours, daily spreads abroad 160

  His being with a strength that cannot fail.

  Nor was there want of milder thoughts, of love,

  Of innocence, and holiday repose,

  And more than pastoral quiet in the heart

  Of amplest projects, and a peaceful end 165

  At last, or glorious, by endurance won.

  Thus musing, in a wood I sate me down

  Alone, continuing there to muse. Meanwhile

  The mountain heights were slowly overspread

  With darkness, and before a rippling breeze 170

  The long lake lengthened out its hoary line,

  And in the sheltered coppice where I sate,

  Around me, from among the hazel leaves —

  Now here, now there, stirred by the straggling wind —

  Came intermittingly a breath-like sound, 175

  A respiration short and quick, which oft,

  Yea, might I say, again and yet again,

  Mistaking for the panting of my dog,

  The off-and-on companion of my walk,

  I turned my head to look if he were there. 180

  A freshness also found I at this time

  In human life, the life I mean of those

  Whose occupations really I loved.

  The prospect often touched me with surprize:

  Crowded and full, and changed, as se
emed to me, 185

  Even as a garden in the heat of spring

  After an eight-days’ absence. For — to omit

  The things which were the same and yet appeared

  So different — amid this solitude,

  The little vale where was my chief abode, 190

  ‘Twas not indifferent to a youthful mind

  To note, perhaps some sheltered seat in which

  An old man had been used to sun himself,

  Now empty; pale-faced babes whom I had left

  In arms, known children of the neighbourhood, 195

  Now rosy prattlers, tottering up and down;

  And growing girls whose beauty, filched away

  With all its pleasant promises, was gone

  To deck some slighted playmate’s homely cheek.

  Yes, I had something of another eye, 200

  And often looking round was moved to smiles

  Such as a delicate work of humour breeds.

  I read, without design, the opinions, thoughts,

  Of those plain-living people, in a sense

  Of love and knowledge: with another eye 205

  I saw the quiet woodman in the woods,

  The shepherd on the hills. With new delight,

  This chiefly, did I view my grey-haired dame,

  Saw her go forth to church, or other work

  Of state, equipped in monumental trim — 210

  Short velvet cloak, her bonnet of the like,

  A mantle such as Spanish cavaliers

  Wore in old time. Her smooth domestic life —

  Affectionate without uneasiness —

  Her talk, her business, pleased me; and no less 215

  Her clear though shallow stream of piety,

  That ran on sabbath days a fresher course.

  With thoughts unfelt till now I saw her read

  Her bible on the Sunday afternoons,

  And loved the book when she had dropped asleep 220

  And made of it a pillow for her head.

  Nor less do I remember to have felt

  Distinctly manifested at this time,

  A dawning, even as of another sense,

  A human-heartedness about my love 225

  For objects hitherto the gladsome air

  Of my own private being, and no more —

  Which I had loved, even as a bless`ed spirit

  Or angel, if he were to dwell on earth,

  Might love in individual happiness. 230

  But now there opened on me other thoughts,

  Of change, congratulation and regret,

  A new-born feeling. It spread far and wide:

  The trees, the mountains shared it, and the brooks,

  The stars of heaven, now seen in their old haunts — 235

  White Sirius glittering o’er the southern crags,

  Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven,

  Acquaintances of every little child,

  And Jupiter, my own beloved star.